


Mr. Monk Needs Help

by Bookwormgal



Category: Monk (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Crime Scenes, Friendship, Gen, Gun Violence, Hospitals, More Violent Than Canon, Murder, Mystery, Phobias and Obsessions, Post-"Mr. Monk and The Best Man", Pre- "Mr. Monk and the End", San Francisco, Serious Injuries, Staged Crime Scene, Talking to Dead Loved Ones, Why Don't You Just Shoot Him?, fake suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monk is called in for a staged suicide of a woman found hanging from her ceiling fan. But someone doesn't want the detective solving this mystery and decides to stop him by any means necessary. After all, the man might be a genius when it comes to solving crimes, but he is still mortal. A properly-placed bullet can solve a lot of problems...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Medias Res

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never really wrote anything that could be considered a mystery. That’s never really been my genre of choice. But I rather enjoyed the show and decided to give it a brief try. I do warn you, I plan to go a little further than the show would. Because I tend to be just a little evil to characters I like.
> 
> Traditional disclaimer: I don’t own the familiar faces. I just create the characters that appear for the actual mystery and such. Victims, suspects, red herrings, and general background folks. People like that.
> 
> In regards to settings, I’ve decided to place this story sometime after “Mr. Monk and the Best Man,” but before “Mr. Monk and the End.” That means, Stottlemeyer is married to T.K., but Trudy’s murder is still unsolved. Also, the first part of the story is actually set in the middle (also referred to as in medias res) and is a little vague. The next chapter will go back and show how we got there. Just so you don’t get too confused.

He had no choice. The man brought it on himself, poking around and asking questions. He should have just left it alone and everything would have been fine. No one else needed to be hurt. But the man, so twitchy and odd even while being brilliant, just wouldn’t quit. He had no choice.

He wore a dark jacket and gloves, tucking a baseball cap and sunglasses into one pocket. The other pocket held a Mateba Auto revolver, a handgun he’d borrowed from a friend of hers. At best, it would point the police to a different suspect and possibly rid himself of Jessica’s “friend.” At worst, it would at least keep the cops distracted a little. Either way, the weapon wouldn’t trace back to him.

Positioning himself carefully in front of the apartment door, he knocked. He knew the man would open the door. After all, he promised to tell the dark-haired man if he thought of anything useful for the investigation. As long as the gun was kept out of sight long enough to get the door unlocked, there would be no reason for the resident of the apartment to realize the truth in time.

He heard the locks turn and the door opened a crack, the chain still in place. The man peered at him, a look of confusion and worry on his face. That was all the opening he needed. He yanked his gun out and fired, the shot hitting the door beam and grazing the left side of the man’s head as he jerked away. The shout of surprise and pain as the man stumbled back did nothing to stop him from slamming the door open, breaking the chain in the process.

He saw his target, holding something in one hand while the other reached up to where he’d been slightly injured. Before the man could react, he opened fire again. This time, he aimed for the center of mass with far more success. Four bloodstains blossomed across his chest, sending the man staggering and falling as he dropped whatever he was holding.

He listened a moment, the man gasping and moaning slightly in pain. With his foot, he rolled the bleeding man onto his back and stared into his pain-filled eyes. He had no choice. The man needed to die. He needed to be certain that no one would figure out what happened to Jessica and this was the only solution.

Remembering every vampire-slaying movie scene he’d ever watched, he placed the barrel of the gun against the upper-left section of the man’s chest. There was some feeble attempt to push the weapon away, but pain, blood loss, and shock were already having an effect.

“Good-bye, detective,” he said before firing the final bullet.

Then all intentions to ransack the overly-neat house to imply the attack was part of a burglary evaporated when he realized what the man dropped before. Lying beside the dying man was a cordless phone, frantic voices already shouting the man’s name coming over the speakers. Time was up.

He kicked away the phone, causing it to hit hard enough to knock the batteries out. Then he tossed the revolver to the floor. The gloves would ensure there would be no fingerprints and there was no reason to risk being found with the murder weapon. He swiftly left the apartment while pulling the hat and sunglasses out of his pocket.

There was nothing to connect him to Jessica’s murder. Or at least nothing a normal cop would notice. And now the famous Adrian Monk would never solve it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue opening theme music...


	2. Jessica McKinley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but I at least wanted to get the crime scene posted.

Some people complained about their bosses being picky about signing out equipment, filling out paperwork perfectly, or keeping to the script when answering the phone. Those employees would whine and moan about how insane or obsessed their boss is for worrying about so many little things and would think they are so overworked. They think that their jobs are so hard to deal with because they have to handle a few odd requests.

Natalie knew without a doubt that those whiney people wouldn’t last five minutes working for Mr. Monk.

It wasn’t’ that he was a mean boss. He was just one with unique requirements from an assistant. From his numerous phobias, strict organization preferences, cleanliness issues, and general quirks, he wasn’t exactly low-maintenance. He wasn’t an easy person to be around. Not to mention a cheapskate. But he was a good man and even on the days she wanted to strangle him, she liked working with him.

Besides, she’d probably commit murder herself if she was forced to work in an office doing a monotonous and normal job.

On yet another day of helping Monk survive the normal world, she followed him as they headed into a house. It was nice. In fact, it reminded her a little of those charming houses from sitcoms and shows that included a mischievous kid with a knack for childish adventures. The place even had a white fence and rose bushes. Natalie almost wished to live in the house herself. The property was gorgeous.

Of course, the dead woman dangling from the ceiling kind of ruined the scenic view. In the tastefully-decorated living room, the body of a blond woman was hanging by a short rope from a ceiling fan that could barely support her weight. After being Monk’s assistant for years, finding dead bodies in a variety of scenarios no longer bothered Natalie as much. She still found it sad to see horrible things happen to people, but she could be a little more objective about what she was seeing.

The rope around her neck and the knocked-over step stool beneath her suggested a suicide, though it probably wasn’t that simple or straightforward. They didn’t call Monk for regular suicides.

A rather distraught-seeming man was in one corner talking to Randy, the lieutenant having positioned himself so the man didn’t have to look in the direction of the body. She didn’t have to be a detective to know he was likely the husband. That fact alone guaranteed Monk’s sympathy. Any instant where someone lost a spouse, especially a husband losing a wife, resonated strongly with him and reminded him about how someone stole Trudy from him. Natalie could understand that. They sometimes reminded her of Mitch too.

“Monk. Natalie, Captain Stottlemeyer greeted, moving toward them carefully to avoid disturbing any possible evidence surrounding the body in the middle of the room. “Glad you could join us.”

“Captain,” he responded, already reaching out to touch the decorative lamp in the room.

Long since used to the man’s eccentricities and smart enough to have the cops to dust for fingerprints before his arrival, the captain began to explain, “At 4:45 this afternoon, Roger McKinley returned from the movies with a friend to find his wife, Jessica, hanging from the ceiling fan. At first glance, it looks like a suicide.” He handed Monk a piece of paper in a plastic evidence bag, remarking, “There was even a note.”

“‘Sorry’,” he read before glancing up at the blond man. “A one-word suicide note?”

“Apparently,” shrugged Stottlemeyer. “Now, something about this setup seemed off, so I figured it would be worth it to have you take a look.”

“What I’d like to know is how she didn’t rip the ceiling fan loose,” Natalie said. “I mean, she’s a short and skinny woman, but I would have thought she’d still weigh enough to break it.”

“She would have,” stated the detective. He was already moving around the crime scene, his hands in his usual investigating position. “If she was to drop all her weight suddenly on that rope, the ceiling fan would have broken off. The only way it would have worked is if she was slow and careful about adding the weight to the rope.”

Watching him work was always impressive. The only time Monk was in his element was at a crime scene. She and the rest of his friends, as limited as their numbers might be, might have to be a buffer between him and the rest of the world in order for him to survive daily life, but this was where they could see his true potential.

His attention was now focused on the knocked-over step stool. It was a short, white, plastic thing that reminded Natalie of the one that used to live in the bathroom at home, giving Julie a few extra inches to reach the sink back when she was little. He glanced between the step stool and the poor victim, a slight frown on his face.

“She’s too high off the ground,” he said quietly before turning to the captain. “If she’d been standing on this at the time, then she’d be closer to the floor. And that’s still assuming she didn’t break the ceiling fan in the process. I think… she was already dead when she was put up there. Someone staged this. They climbed up there and put the rope on the ceiling fan, supporting her weight while slowly making sure nothing broke free. Then they knocked over the step stool and left the note so we’d think it was a suicide.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” nodded Stottlemeyer before turning his attention to the room at large. “Listen up. This is now officially a homicide investigation.”

At the captain’s word, people went into action to remove the late Mrs. McKinley from her current position. No doubt they’d already taken photos and documented her staged “suicide” and only held off on moving her before so Monk could confirm their suspicions about the scene. Natalie hoped the poor woman didn’t suffer.

As expected, Monk was already examining the rest of the crime scene. Natalie paid close attention as he moved around the room, keeping an eye out for clues and any requirements he might need for a wipe. It was rare that she spotted something before her boss, but it never hurt to have another pair of eyes.

He seemed to be drawn towards one of the windows, peering at it curiously. She saw him lean over the window sill a moment before glancing towards the other windows. Next, he seemed to stare outside towards the yard a little. Then he turned towards Stottlemeyer.

“This window is unlocked,” he said. “But all the other windows are locked tight.”

“I’ll tell you who did this,” said Mr. McKinley, interrupting him and shoving past Randy with an expression that was now more angry than distraught.

While Jessica was a thin, short, and fragile-looking woman from what Natalie observed, her husband seemed to be her physical opposite. Brown, curly hair and blue eyes, the man was built like a brick wall. He was tall, looming over the scene with his broad shoulders and muscular arms barely concealed by his grey shirt.

“It had to be Dennis,” stated Mr. McKinley. “He’s the only one who could do something horrible to her. He was always upset Jessica married me. They used to date in high school while I met her in college. But he never gave up on her. He would call her or try to talk to her into going places with him. He never stopped. And it only got worse when he moved back to the city. He called last night, practically begging her to meet him. She refused and we actually managed to make it pretty clear this time that she wasn’t interested.” He ran a hand though his hair. “I never thought Dennis would do something like this. He was a pest. A persistent one, but still harmless. If I knew he’d do something like this…I didn’t expect this. Otherwise I never would have gone to the movies with Alan.” The man shook his head, “I should have made her come with us, but she always hated vampire movies. They creeped her out. Horror movies really bothered her, so I usually watch them with Alan instead. If only I stayed with her, none of this would have happened…”

“There was no way you could have known,” said Stottlemeyer. “All I can tell you is that we have the best men possible on the case. In fact do you see that man?”

“The one messing with my picture frames?” he asked, looking in the direction the captain pointed.

A quick glance was all Natalie needed to confirm the fact that he was rearranging the collection of photos on the shelf. While she or the captain might try to curb some of his more problematic reactions of trying to straighten and clean the world, sometimes it was less stressful for everyone to let him fix things a little. By the time they left, she knew they would be the most balanced and organized display of picture frames that Mr. McKinley would ever see in his life. And there was a reasonable chance that the man would be left with the impression that Monk was insane.

“Yeah,” nodded the captain, closing his eyes momentarily at the scene. “Well, that’s Adrian Monk. You might have heard his name before. And this is his assistant, Natalie Teeger.” He gestured towards her briefly. “He’s a consultant for the police and we call him in when a case like this comes up. So when I tell you that your wife’s killer will be brought to justice, you better believe that completely. Between the police and Monk, they will be caught.”

“Does Dennis have a last name?” asked Randy, holding up his small notebook at the ready.

“Yeah,” he nodded, the anger having faded back to resigned sorrow. “Dennis Jackson.”

“Does he have a key to your house?” Monk asked, still adjusting the pictures subtly.

A look of shocked disbelief flashed across Mr. McKinley’s face at the question. Natalie knew the man was mentally labeling Monk as an idiot. But she also knew her boss was onto something with his investigation.

“Why in the world would we give him a key? That’s crazy.”

“Then he’s not the guy.”

The man sputtered for several moments before managing to ask, “What do you mean he’s not the guy? He’s the only person who might want to hurt Jessica. He probably climbed in that unlocked window you found, _killed_ my _wife_ , and then made it look like a suicide.”

“No,” said Monk, stopping his rearrangements in apparent satisfaction.

…Then he nudged one picture frame a little more. Then a little more. Then he turned another slightly.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” snapped the recent widower.

“Why isn’t Dennis Jackson our suspect?” said Stottlemeyer, trying to steer the conversation back in a productive direction.

“The dust on the window sill,” Monk answered. “It might be unlocked, but no one has opened it in a while. And they certainly haven’t been climbing in that way. The dust hasn’t been disturbed. Besides, they would have damaged the bush outside by trying to climb over it.” Walking over to Mr. McKinley, he continued, “Any other type of forced entry would have been noticed already and would ruin their attempt to make it look like a suicide. Now, they could have been someone familiar that she would have let inside, but your doors have deadbolts. I saw them on the way in. Those need to be locked with a key when you leave. Were they locked when you came home?”

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted with a stunned expression on his face. “Maybe?”

“Either way, it couldn’t be Dennis. You said he doesn’t have a key. And if your description of his relationship with your wife is true, she wouldn’t have let him inside. So he couldn’t be the guy.”

Natalie couldn’t help smiling as Mr. McKinley obviously switched from thinking of her boss as crazy to recognizing his skills as a detective. She always liked watching that reaction on people’s faces.

“Well, Mr. Monk,” the man said slowly, “it seems that your reputation as a detective is well-earned. I trust you’ll find out what happened to my sweet Jessica? You won’t stop until she has justice?”

“I’ll find the truth for you. You deserve to know. Not knowing is the worst part,” he said before shaking the offered hand and quickly accepting the hand wipe Natalie automatically provided.

“We’ll still bring in Mr. Jackson for a few questions, just in case,” stated Stottlemeyer. “Even if he wasn’t involved, he might have some ideas of who might want to kill her. Especially if he was as persistent in being involved in her life as you claim.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Thank you.”

As the captain and Randy went to check on how the rest of the cops were progressing, Natalie gave the poor man a sympathetic smile. This was probably the worst day of his life. Now that no one was asking him questions, he looked overwhelmed and anxious about the entire situation.

“I know this has been horrible and I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “Both of us are.”

“Yes, we’re both sorry,” repeated Monk, some awkwardness returning now that he was approaching something resembling social interactions rather than just investigating.

Pulling out a card from her purse, she continued, “If you think of anything else that might help, just let us or the police know.”

“I will,” Mr. McKinley said, taking the offered card. Tucking it in his pocket, he remarked, “I… I feel like I should… I don’t know, offer you a drink of water or something. What do people do in these situations?”

“Do you have Summit Creek bottled water?” asked Monk.

“No, but I have Glacier Springs.”

“Then no.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind some water,” she said, seeing that the man wanted to do something useful.

“The kitchen is this way,” he said as Natalie followed him to the other room.

It turned out the kitchen was just as tastefully-decorated as the living room, minus the unpleasant aspect of being a murder scene. The cheery yellow shade on the walls and the white cabinets made the place seem warm and inviting.

“Did your wife decorate your home?” she asked carefully.

“No, we hired someone,” he answered as he opened the fridge. “But Jessica did love our kitchen. She was a wonderful cook.”

As he reached for her water, Natalie noticed about six gallons of milk stuffed inside. Obviously this household didn’t share Monk’s fear of the substance. She always considered her boss’ fear of milk as one of his strangest. And considering how many phobias he possessed, that was quite the accomplishment. At least fears of heights, spiders, snakes, death, germs, and crowds made sense. Fear of milk was just a little random in comparison. On the other hand, it was actually hard to imagine her boss without his unique collection of phobias. Even the ones that seemed unusual.

“I suppose I should have asked before, but are you just his assistant or…?” he asked awkwardly.

Natalie laughed slightly, recognizing what he wanted to know. It wasn’t the first time someone made that assumption upon first seeing them together and she doubted it would be the last. It was so weird to imagine, especially considering Monk’s complete devotion to his late wife, but some people automatically thought that any man and woman in a situation together and on clearly friendly terms must be more than merely friends.

“No, we work together. Mr. Monk is my boss and I already have a boyfriend,” she assured. “But you’re not only one who’s ever asked that sort of question.”

Mr. McKinley smiled sheepishly for a moment before asking, “Then as his assistant, do you honestly think he can do it?”

“Yes, I honestly do,” she said without hesitation. She knew her boss was probably still readjusting the picture frames in the other room to make them perfect, but she also knew what he was capable of. “He’s the best. When Mr. Monk is on a case, that case _will_ be solved.”


End file.
